


Perchance To

by ageless_aislynn



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: F/M, ReverseSnow, Snowells, Snowellsweek2016
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-23
Updated: 2016-06-23
Packaged: 2018-07-16 22:03:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7286401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ageless_aislynn/pseuds/ageless_aislynn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harrison certainly doesn't think of Caitlin in that way. Until he does. For <a href="http://supercavanatic.tumblr.com/post/145219540380/snowwells-week-2016-prompt-list">Snowells Week 2016</a>, Day 4, prompt: “You never cease to impress me, Caitlin.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Perchance To

**Author's Note:**

> I alllllmost struck out for this day until I was looking over the prompts again and my ReverseSnow muse suddenly decided to show up to the party, nearly 15 minutes late _but_ bringing a bit of smut, lol! 
> 
> If you read, I hope you enjoy! This also has a home at [LJ](http://signed-aislynn.livejournal.com/47253.html) and [Tumblr](http://ageless-aislynn.tumblr.com/post/146377727015/fic-perchance-to-caitlinharrison-the-flash). ;) ♥

Harrison turned the wheelchair away from the monitors. "Your observations about lucid dreaming are truly inspired," he said. "You never cease to impress me, Caitlin."

"Oh, Dr. Wells," she demurred, "you haven't even seen my best, yet."

And she unbuttoned her pale gray, very prim and proper blouse, letting it make a long slide to the floor. In a graceful shimmy, her darker, pencil-thin skirt followed. 

There wasn't a lot in the multiverse that could make his jaw literally drop but Caitlin Snow stripping down to her lacy white underthings was one of them.

"I... You... Ahem." Despite the superhuman speed the synapses in his brain could fire, allowing him to outthink every situation he had come across so far, his ability to process information abruptly slowed to a near standstill.

She smiled radiantly at his dumbfounded reaction and strode forward, a goddess confident in her own skin. "I've thought about this a lot. Have you? I hope that I haven't been the only one. Every day, working side by side, just a breath away. But we never touch. I want that to change, Harrison. What about you?"

He scrambled for composure. He had lived his constructed life for so long it had become a second skin in more ways than one. He _knew_ what the real Harrison Wells would've said in this situation, knew how he would've been shocked by her unexpectedly bold proposition but would've sought to defuse the situation with the least amount of hurt feelings and awkwardness. He most certainly wouldn't have entertained the notion for more than a brief second and would've never acted on her offer.

"Caitlin," he began but rather than sounding kindly stern, her name emerged in a hoarse plea. Her smile widened and she leaned forward, giving him a truly spectacular view of her breasts, before she kissed him.

At first, it was a sigh of her lips against his. Her fingertips brushed along his jaw then made a languorous glide into his hair. 

He brought his hands up with the intention of moving her back but the moment he encountered all that warm, silky-soft bare skin, he was lost. The kiss became a frenzy of mouths and tongues and when she pulled his hair with _just_ the right amount of strength, his hands were on her hips and she ended up straddling his thighs and there shouldn't have been enough room in the chair for her to fit but somehow she did.

He had trained himself to stay immobile no matter the circumstances, to preserve the illusion no matter the degree of pain or discomfort. But his indomitable strength of will, the years of meticulous planning and tedious waiting, every bit of it evaporated the instant she ground down on him. He could as soon have flung himself into the sun as remain still beneath that erotic onslaught.

All that mattered now was her, Caitlin Snow, alive, strong, soft and real in his arms. He stood because there was suddenly a bed and he needed her on it and everything was _right_. His need for her was the desperation of a man dying of thirst under the boiling desert sun, of a drowning man fighting to surface for air, and when he laid her down, she moaned, " _Eobard_ ," and the thrill of his true name in her mouth sent fire blazing up from the base of his spine.

She shouldn't have known that name, that she _did_ set off faint alarm bells, but they were easy to ignore under the tactile assault she was making on his senses. And he didn't want to leave, why would he ever want to leave, when she was here, she was with him, she believed him, she loved him, and the alarm grew louder but his need was louder still.

The alarm.

Alarm...

He jolted awake, the alarm clock blaring in his ear, and he silenced it with a slap that unintentionally had the Speed Force behind it. It vaporized in a shower of smoke and shrapnel.

In the darkness of the early morning hours, he fought to slow his ragged breathing and recover his wits.

Then he pushed the dream aside, forcing himself to rise, to start rebuilding the carefully crafted persona of Harrison Wells around himself again. Within that facade, he would be able to go to S.T.A.R. Labs and look Caitlin right in the eye without flinching and give absolutely no sign that he was anything other than inviolate and unmovable.

He made a mental note to replace the alarm clock. It would be the third one this week.

Perhaps, he mused, it would be best to just buy them in bulk?


End file.
